


A Blue Christmas

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Duran Duran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:03:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1628192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stocking Stuffer. John Taylor moved to LA for a new life, but the old world still calls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Blue Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Nicole DAnnais

 

 

The packages almost fell out of his arms as John Taylor cursed his way through the front door. His wife was no help: she had the baby, who was being quiet and good and fussing much less than John's packages. So went the joys of fatherhood.

He dumped the packages on the chair in the foyer; they immediately tumbled every which way, some of them hitting the floor with an ominous crunch. John declined to give a damn. He was slowly turning green as a Grinch, but he didn't give a damn about that, either. He loved almost everything about their new home across the world, but Christmas was utterly pointless here. No family, few friends, and constant, merciless sunshine - everything that made Los Angeles a refuge for him was suddenly a burden. He had thought he'd come here to be free of his burdens.

Amanda brushed past him, cooing to their daughter as she went to feed her. Left alone with the fruits of their shopping, John stared at the mess, then pointedly walked away. Everything had to be sent across a continent and an ocean anyway, and none of it had any chance of arriving on time, considering tomorrow was Christmas. Today, actually, he thought as he glanced at the clock and automatically converted it to London time. They were such failures they hadn't even managed to send Christmas presents. All the people he missed were probably glad they were gone.

He walked into the living room, where the light was blinking on the answer phone. One message, probably from one set of grandparents or the other, wanting to know why they couldn't spoil their new grandbaby on Christmas Eve. He hit the play button and crossed his arms over his chest in a preemptive defensive maneuver.

The crackle of the trans-Atlantic line seemed to confirm his suspicions until the sound of a single harmonica note came out of the machine, followed by the most ridiculous, over the top singing he had ever heard - and after almost thirteen years in Duran Duran, that was saying something.

"I'll have a blue Christmas without you," the familiar voice serenaded him. "I'll be so blue, thinking about yooooou."

His jaw dropped at first, but then he felt his mouth stretching into the first grin he'd sported all day. Maybe all month. Delight won over disbelief, warmth flooding him that had nothing to do with the weather.

"Decorations of red - ours are white as usual, as you'd know if you were here - on a green Christmas tree," went the song, and John gave a little laugh, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to fight back the wetness. "They won't mean a thing, if you're not here with me."

Amanda stuck her head in from the kitchen, buttoning up her shirt with a puzzled look at the phone as the singing reached a climactic pitch. "You'll be doing all right with your Christmas of white -well, not white, I suppose, unless you've gone mountain climbing, which seems unlikely - but I'll have a blue, blue blue blue blue blue Christmas."

There was a pause, the line still crackling to show that the message wasn't over. "Happy Christmas, Johnny," it continued at last. "I hope you're enjoying the sun, but don't stay away too long, yeah? I miss you."

The machine beeped, and John pulled in deep breath through his suddenly and suspiciously congested sinuses. Amanda huffed a little, walked over and jabbed a finger at the erase button. "You know I love Simon like a brother," she said. "But honestly, he can be so ridiculous sometimes."

He answered with a noncommittal grunt as she went back to the kitchen. It was safer never to argue on this subject, and that was the one resolution he usually managed to keep. But when the tape was finished rewinding, he popped it out of the machine, replacing it with the spare blank they kept the table drawer. She never needed to know the difference; she never had before.

Love you, too, Charlie, he thought as he stuck the tape in his pocket and went back to his chosen life.

 


End file.
